


Vigilant

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Hurt Sheriff Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, POV Chris Argent, RIP Allison Argent, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: All’s Chris had to go on was a panicked call from Scott about the sheriff going ballistic, trying to kill Scott of all people, and Stiles lining the entrances with Mountain Ash so Scott couldn’t get into his own house.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It was interesting to explore the Stilinski males from Chris Argent's point of view. I also like seeing Chris keep tabs on Scott...I think everyone misses Allison.

Chris Argent approached the McCall house with caution. 

All’s Chris had to go on was a panicked call from Scott about the sheriff going ballistic, trying to kill Scott of all people, and Stiles lining the entrances with Mountain Ash so Scott couldn’t get into his own house.

Scott had matured a great deal in the years Chris had known him and the desperation in the young man’s voice— _something’s really wrong with Stiles’s dad and I’m afraid he might do something to Stiles_ —had the true ring of concern and not just drama. Chris of course substituted _might do something_ with maim or kill and he’d found himself in his SUV, barreling toward the McCall’s without much thought.

The Stilinskis were good people. Chris had gotten to know the sheriff when they’d been trussed up waiting to be sacrificed at the hands of the Darach and the man was cool under pressure with a wide streak of sarcasm that had easily explained to Chris so much about the younger Stilinski’s attitude.

Stiles was gutsy and could think out of the box and he’d had the heart to insert himself into supernatural drama, and stand up to Chris, in a way that had earned Chris’s admiration. Both Stilinskis had that in common.

The SUV had barely pulled to a stop when Scott was at Chris’s door, opening it and practically manhandling him out. “I haven’t seen or heard anything since a gunshot was fired right after we hung up,” Scott spit out, rapid fire, agitation apparent in both the tight lines of his body and his tone.

Chris found the comforting weight of his weapon tucked into the small of his back and withdrew it. “What the hell is going on?” he barked. He couldn’t go off half-cocked; he needed some Intel.

“Sheriff Stilinski showed up, said he needed to talk to me, and before we could even get inside, Stiles came tearing up. It was so unreal,” Scott paused, swallowing convulsively, “Stiles’s dad backhanded him and told him to stay out of the way. When the sheriff turned his back on Stiles, he had a gun trained on me. Stiles knocked his dad down and before I could do anything, they were both in the house and Stiles sealed the Mountain Ash line he’d put in place to keep my mom safe if she needed it. He reinforced it with something else so I couldn’t break through.” 

Scott took another breath and Chris was caught in the crosshairs of those earnest brown eyes, beseeching. “Why would Stiles keep me out? I can’t help him from out here and now it’s quiet in there and what the hell do we do?”

Chris squeezed Scott’s shoulder and the paternal gesture wasn’t lost on him; he missed nurturing and teaching. He missed his daughter. Even though Scott, and his friends, could never replace Allison, Chris vowed he’d do what he could to keep them safe. Just like Allison would’ve.

_Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes. We protect those who can not protect themselves_

Not that Chris would ever suggest out loud that either Stilinski couldn’t protect himself.

Chris focused at the issue at hand. “So you have no idea why the sheriff would come after you, or hurt Stiles?”

Scott bit his lower lip. “Stiles said his dad has been a little weird lately, disappearing for periods of time and being secretive, but when I pressed him for information he clammed out. Those two have been super tight ever since the whole Dread Doctors thing and Sheriff Stilinski almost dying.” 

Chris didn’t have much of a plan but the fact Scott couldn’t hear anything was concerning. “All right, I’m going to break the Mountain Ash line but I want you to let me go inside first, check things out. We can’t rule out something supernatural at work here and I want to get the lay of the land.”

_And keep you safe even though you’re a True Alpha and at the top of your game._

It was hard enough watching his little girl’s first love throw himself into dangerous situation after situation so he could only imagine what the sheriff thought about his very human teenaged son doing the same.

Chris approached the porch steps at an angle, keeping his profile low, hoping to avoid detection. 

Toeing through the chalky substance on the ground, Chris heard the whoosh of relief Scott made as the barrier popped. 

Turning the doorknob, Chris eased the door open. He almost staggered back as he got his first look at the McCall’s foyer and then living room.

The foyer walls were smeared with what looked like congealing streaks of blood and overturned furniture, some broken, littered the larger room.

To the left, leaning against the wall, Sheriff Stilinski was propped up against the wall, a large dark spot on his left shoulder growing by the moment, and to the right, Stiles sprawled awkwardly on his back, gun still held loosely in his left hand.

At least both men were breathing.

“Scott, see to Stiles while I check out the sheriff,” Chris directed.

Kneeling down, Chris touched his index and middle fingers to the downed man’s carotid artery and was rewarded with a steady, albeit quick, thumping pulse. 

Chris knew the next step was to control the bleeding and that meant making some decisions about medical care—like the need for an ambulance even though they still didn’t know what the hell had happened here—when a brisk knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts.

Glancing over his shoulder, Chris watched Deputy Parrish enter the room. The other man’s green eyes widened as he took in the state of the living room, and the unconscious men. 

“What the hell—?” the deputy bit out before clamming up. He took up position at Chris’s back and although he had no reason to distrust the deputy, Chris didn’t like anyone behind him out of view. 

Chris rose to his feet to face the newcomer. “Gunshot wound to the left shoulder. No other discernable wounds although I didn’t want to move him. Scott, how’s Stiles?”

“Not good. He’s bleeding from the head and his arm…it’s ah…mangled? Like broken in at least three places that I can see,” Scott gave his report, voice thick with emotion.

Deputy Parrish cleared his throat. “Do we know what happened? We received a report of gunfire and I was dispatched to check it out. Can I call this in or…?”

The younger man understood the implications to everyone involved although the sheriff had the most to lose.

“Sheriff Stilinski wanted to kill me and Stiles wouldn’t let him,” Scott had drifted over to them, his brown eyes glazed with moisture.

Chris put a steadying hand on the young man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He was shit with words but a small, comforting touch he could offer.

Parrish briskly rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Maybe call Doc Deaton? If we can move the sheriff safely and treat him outside of the hospital I think that would be for the best. At least buy us some time to figure out what’s going on.” The deputy’s regard shifted to Scott. “Do we need to get Stiles medical help right away?”

“I’m no doctor, hell, I’m not even a vet. But I don’t think Stiles is bleeding out or anything. If he wakes up in pain I’ll drain it. Let’s see what Dr. Deaton has to say,” Scott said looking resolved.

Some of the young man’s confidence seemed to be returning and Chris appreciated the levelheaded responses from his associates? Confederates? Partners? 

Scott dialed Deaton who said he’d be to the McCall house in ten minutes. The younger man went into the kitchen and emerged with some dishtowels. He handed one to Parrish. “For the bleeding.”

Chris remembered the young deputy had spent some time in the armed services on a Hazardous Device Team so he should be familiar with some basic first aid.

Scott hesitated as Parrish leaned over the sheriff so Chris removed the other dishtowel from the young man’s hands and moved toward Stiles.

It struck Chris as odd that the gun was clasped in Stiles’s left hand as he knew the young man to be right hand dominant. He removed the Glock 22, admiring it fleetingly before he tucked it into his pocket. Its three internal safeties worked seamlessly to prevent accidental discharges and safety hazards so it should be fine tucked away out of sight.

The Glock 22 combined the power of a .45 caliber weapon with the size and flexibility of a 9mm weapon. In fact it could shoot both 9mm and .40-caliber ammunition and for this reason, even though it was a bit bigger than the Glock 19 and harder to conceal, it was the best choice for a law enforcement officer to use in Chris’s opinion.

Chris’s attention swung to Stiles’s right hand and his gaze swept up the arm, cringing as he catalogued the injuries. Scott had thought there was three breaks but Chris was guessing more like six and at least two of them were compound fractures.

What the hell had happened here?

Chris had carefully tilted Stiles’s head to the side so he could get a better look at the damage to the back of his head when Deaton swept into the house, leather medical bag clutched in one hand.

The other man’s eyes widened as he looked around but then he was all business, hustling over to Scott. “How can I help?”

It was interesting to see the druid deferring to the teenager but then again Scott was a True Alpha. Chris would always think of him first as the boy his daughter had brought home to dinner, awkward but willing to please. Scott had held promise then and he was certainly turning into a mature, and worthy, young man.

Scott cleared his throat. “The sheriff was going to attack me so Stiles barricaded himself inside the house with his dad. I couldn’t break through the Mountain Ash barrier. We’re afraid there’s something,” Scott waved his hand and bobbed his eyebrows up and down which must denote supernatural but then he clarified it, “wonky going on with Sheriff Stilinski. Can you see if it’s safe to move him?”

The deputy chimed in, “We’d rather not have to report the gunshot wound if it’s, you know, supernatural need-to-know basis.”

“Not to mention it looks like Stiles shot his dad,” Scott concluded, his attention drifting back over to where Chris was tending to the fallen young man.

Deaton nodding sagely. “I see. Let me do a quick examination and then we’ll see if the sheriff can be moved.”

Chris kept his own counsel, concentrating on Stiles. Some blood trickled from the young man’s fat lip and Chris dabbed at it, wishing he could take not only the physical pain but also what was sure to be mental pain when Stiles woke up.

“I’ve dressed the wound and I think it’s safe to move the sheriff. Scott, could you please carry him out to my car?” Deaton asked.

Scott nodded quickly, kneeling down next to the unconscious man, carefully picking him up. Deaton handed Parrish his keys and the deputy helped guide Scott out of the house.

Chris stood up as Deaton approached. “I’m afraid Stiles is going to need more medical attention than I can give him if he wants to retain the use of his arm.”

Nodding gravely, Chris silently agreed.

The vet left the premises and Parrish returned. “Scott is going to help Deaton with the sheriff. I’m going to go ahead and call this in as a home invasion and assault. You sticking around?”

“Yeah, I’ll just say I dropped by to see Melissa and Scott and you were already here,” Chris responded. He didn’t feel right about leaving Stiles like this, not when the teen was so vulnerable.

Nodding his agreement, Parrish deployed the lapel mic requesting back up and an ambulance. 

Stiles twitched and groaned and Chris held his left, uninjured side down. “Just relax, Stiles. Everything is going to be okay.”

Sometimes you had to tell a little white lie if it was for the greater good.

Unless there was some miracle, Chris really doubted anything was ever going to be okay for the Stilinski men.

-0-

Chris’s cell phone rang, interrupting his perusal of _Cosmopolitan_ and just when he’d flipped the page to the article “What Your Sign Says About Who Loves You.” He’d wanted something to focus his attention on but nothing too deep. This reading certainly seemed to fit the bill.

“Argent here,” he rasped his standard greeting.

“Chris, we have a problem,” Scott stammered. “The sheriff is gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Chris demanded.

Chris had offered to switch places with Scott so he could guard Stilinski while they figured what was going on but Scott had maintained he’d feel better with Chris keeping an eye on Stiles. Stiles who had barely been conscious in the last twenty-four hours, or when he was conscious he hadn’t been very cognizant of his environment.

“I mean after I did the Alpha Memory Manipulation thing the sheriff fell asleep and Doc and I came upstairs. I just checked on him and he’s gone,” Scott sounded frantic.

“What did you find out when you did the Memory Manipulation?” Chris asked. That might help him determine where the sheriff was headed.

“His memories were definitely tampered with. It wasn’t supernatural either, it was some sort of brainwashing technique. I found the trigger phrase. I think it was hunters,” Scott reluctantly explained.

“Tell me,” Chris requested.

“It’s the hunter’s code, the one in French,” Scott said.

_Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent._

“That sounds like Gerard,” Chris bit out, disgusted. “Were you able to repair the damage?”

Chris only knew what he’d read about _manipulation de la mémoire_ in the _Bestiary_ and what Scott had told him after Peter had used it on him during the Nogitsune campaign. Chris wasn’t at all comfortable about an Alpha having that kind of power but at least in Scott’s hands, he knew it wouldn’t be misused, at least not on purpose.

“I wiped the phrase from the sheriff’s memory. That’s all I found but this is new to me, I’m not sure I got everything,” Scott finished and Chris could picture the young man worrying his lip with his teeth, anxious over his responsibilities.

Scott was a good man. Unlike Chris’s father. Chris and his dad had a tumultuous relationship and every time Chris thought Gerard couldn’t sink any further, he surprised him, and not in a good way.

Chris shook himself and refocused; he had a job to do here.

“Did the sheriff say anything before he fell asleep?” Chris probed.

“He asked me to tell Stiles how very sorry he was, that he never meant to hurt him,” Scott answered. “He was really broken up about it.”

Chris had known as soon as he’d seen the carnage of the McCall’s living room the sheriff would feel that way once he’d come to his senses.

The elevator chimed and Chris’s attention swung that way. To his surprise, Sheriff Stilinski was emerging from it, frantically looking around until his attention alighted on Chris.

“The sheriff is here. I’ll call you back,” Chris said.

“Wait—!” Scott yelped but Chris disconnected the call. 

“Argent, thank God. Is Stiles okay?” the man asked as he hustled Chris’s way. Well, sort of hustled. His feet were shuffling quickly but he seemed a bit unstable.

Chris moved his hand to the back of his jeans where his Smith & Wesson M&P 9 rested against his back. He didn’t want to pull his weapon in the crowded hospital but he would do his utmost to protect the injured young man in the private room he was guarding.

“What are you doing here Stilinski?” Chris barked out.

“I just wanted to see with my own eyes that Stiles is okay. He doesn’t even need to know I was here but I have to know he’s okay,” the other man explained, holding his hands out in the ‘I come in peace’ gesture. 

The sheriff’s usually bright blue eyes were bloodshot and watery and his skin was pasty. A sling kept his left arm immobilized and he was moving slowly, as though in great pain.

“Stiles is going to be okay. He has a concussion and a broken arm but he should make a full recovery,” Chris recounted the basics of what Melissa had shared with him. Chris didn’t include how absolutely shattered Stiles’s right arm was or that he faced many months of recovery or that he most certainly had post concussive syndrome. 

The man sagged against the wall and for a moment Chris thought he was going to pass out. His color was nonexistent and his breathing was rapid. Chris stood back, monitoring the situation, hand still hovering close to his weapon.

“I know I have no right to ask this but can I look in on him? I just want to see him,” the sheriff looked up at Chris, eyes beseeching.

If the sheriff had said anything else, tried to make a case for what he’d done or worse yet, made excuses, Chris would’ve hustled him out.

Chris could only put himself in Stilinski’s shoes and know how devastated he would be if something similar had happened to his child, and by his own hand.

“First we’re going to walk down to the bathroom so I can pat you down and then maybe I’ll see about letting you into Stiles’s room,” Chris surprised himself by suggesting.

Stilinski straightened up and headed right for the nearest bathroom; apparently he was well versed in the layout of the hospital or had spent significant time here. Chris remembered what he knew about the family and realized it was probably the latter owing to Claudia Stilinski’s illness.

The sheriff let Chris pat him down and as expected, Chris didn’t find any weapons. “Come on, let’s get you in to see your son.”

Stilinski rallied at the words, straightening up and nodding. No more words were spoken as the two men made their way into the private room down the hallway housing the youngest Stilinski.

“Oh, Stiles,” the sheriff sighed as he slowly made his way over to his son. 

Chris had no reason to think the other man would try to harm Stiles but as he’d been tasked with keeping the young man safe he wasn’t taking any chances. He nudged Stilinski into a chair. At least off of his feet, the man was less threatening. Chris hovered over his shoulder.

“Can I touch him?” the sheriff whispered as he looked Stiles up and down.

Chris couldn’t even imagine what the other man was thinking. He’d done this, even if it wasn’t of his own volition.

“Yeah, sure, just don’t go near his right arm,” Chris advised.

Unfortunately Chris had been right when he’d guessed Stiles suffered six fractures to that arm, two of which had been compound fractures. Both bones in his forearm, the radius and the ulna, had been smashed to bits, fragments actually breaking the skin. 

He wasn’t trying to add fuel to the fire, or more guilt to the already guilt riddled man, but Chris thought the father would want to know what had been done. Chris tried to impart the information Melissa had shared with him.

Clearing his throat, Chris began his explanation. “His forearm took the brunt of the damage. The skin and bones were severely damaged so Dr. Geyer did something called external fixation. The metal screws are attached to the bar outside of the skin, holding the bones in alignment so they heal right. Now they’re monitoring for infection.”

Stiles’s cheeks were flushed pink and if the young man had been awake, he’d think the youngster was feeling better. Now the color was ominous.

The older Stilinski took the younger’s left hand between his own and brushed his cheek against it. “He’s too warm. I thought you said they were monitoring him?” the man sounded wrecked.

“They’ll be doing rounds in about ten minutes. We can wait until then or you can leave and I’ll let them know now,” Chris gave the father a choice.

The man rose to his feet, shaky. He settled Stiles’s limp hand across his chest and leaned over brushing a kiss across his forehead. “I need him to be okay. Please get my baby the help he needs.”

“Of course,” Chris promised. 

Scott pounded into the room at that moment, attention shifting from the sheriff as he hovered over Stiles’s still form and his friend. His nose twitched slightly, a frown transforming his features. “He has an infection. Did you tell the doctor?”

“I was just leaving so Chris could do that,” Stilinski answered wearily.

“Why don’t the two of you head back to Deaton’s and I’ll take care of that. Chris, maybe you can test out that thing we talked about,” Scott suggested, raising his eyebrows.

Scott McCall may be a True Alpha but he hadn’t learned subtlety yet. Chris suppressed the need to roll his eyes but it was a near thing.

“Come on, Scott will make sure Stiles gets the treatment he needs,” Chris took command of the scene, his hand wrapping around Stilinski’s undamaged arm.

“Get well, kiddo,” the sheriff murmured before he left his son’s side.

Scott sprang into action, following them out of the room. Chris heard him go up to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me, I think my friend had a fever. Could you please check on him?”

The pretty young nurse blushed under Scott’s attention but that was the last Chris observed before the elevator arrived and he was shepherding the silent man into it.

For the sake of both Stilinskis, Chris hoped Stiles would be okay.

-0-

Stilinski had practically collapsed once they got back to Deaton’s clinic and Chris had helped settle him on the cot in the basement. When the man woke up, assuming he too didn’t succumb to a fever, they would see if Scott’s work had excised the trigger phrase from his mind.

“So that’s the way you want to play it?” Deaton asked, rubbing the scruff of beard on his chin thoughtfully. “You say the trigger phrase and we bring Scott into the room. If Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t react then we consider him deprogrammed and if he does react, we shoot him with a sedative?”

“Unless you have something else in mind,” Chris crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorway.

Deaton stood up from behind the desk. “If Scott is in agreement then I support your plan. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my patients.” 

Chris stepped back so the other man could leave his office. 

Chris’s voice signaled an incoming text and he pulled his phone out.

_They think they caught the infection in time. New antibiotic working._

His own legs felt weak as Chris straightened up. He headed back downstairs to find the sheriff tossing and turning on the cot.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to get Deaton?” Chris offered.

“I’m fine. Just worried about Stiles,” the other man replied. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot but stayed seated.

“Scott just texted me, said the new antibiotic is working,” Chris imparted the information.

The man sagged in relief. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if…”

Stilinski cut himself off. It could be the dawning awareness that Chris had lost his child and he was trying to be sensitive or it could be the man just couldn’t put into words what was the most horrific thing that could happen to a parent.

Chris sank into a chair, exhaustion catching up with him. He had no words of wisdom to impart. 

The silence was surprising companionable, at least on Chris’s end, and he found himself relaxing.

The other man stretched back out on to the cot and soon the air was filled with congested sounding snores. 

Chris pulled his phone out and pulled up his Kindle App. He had started reading _American Assassin_ and found himself identifying with Stan Hurley. The poor man was handed a raw recruit with zero training under his belt. Much like Chris had felt when he’d started working with Allison’s friends.

Used to sitting quietly for long stretches of time, Chris wasn’t surprised to find five hours had passed when he heard footsteps above. His bladder reminded him he’d swilled a lot of coffee at the hospital and after he relieved himself, he returned to find Deaton.

“Are we ready to begin the exercise?” Deaton asked.

Chris really didn’t trust the other man but he did seem to have Scott’s best interests at heart. He grudgingly agreed.

Stilinski was sitting up and coherent. His color had improved and his eyes had more clarity.

“We’re going to see if your little brainwashing problem has been fixed. Are you ready?” Chris asked the man.

“Just don’t let me hurt anyone, that’s all I ask,” Sheriff Stilinski asked. Chris’s admiration of the man went up yet again. He truly seemed to embrace the whole serve and protect motto, they weren’t just words to him.

“Of course,” Chris responded.

“So I’ve been reading a new book, _American Assassin _, have you heard of it?” Chris asked. He was going to insert the French phrase into conversation without warning and see what happened.__

__The other man looked baffled but answered steadily, “Um, no. Should I have?”_ _

__Chris shrugged. “It’s pretty good so far, I thought you’d like it. It even makes use of a little something called _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_._ _

__The man crinkled his nose and the action, and expression, resembled Stiles so much Chris had to smother a smile. “I, ah, don’t think I know what that is. Who is the author?”_ _

__Chris rattled on about the book a bit, and Stilinski relaxed, content to listen to him talk._ _

__“Hey guys, is it okay if I come downstairs?” Scott’s voice called from the top of the stairs._ _

__Stilinski darted a quick look at Chris, definitely worried, but Chris had a good feeling about this. “Come on down, Scott.”_ _

__“How is Stiles doing?” Deaton asked. The other man’s tone was smooth but he definitely sounded concerned about the young man. Stiles definitely had a way of getting under one’s skin. This concern was at least a little proof that the other man wasn’t the hard ass druid he pretended to be._ _

__Scott’s face broke into a wide smile. “He’s great! He even woke up for a while. I thought he was going to pass out when he got a look at his arm, you know how he gets when there’s blood, but I distracted him and he got past it. They think they can release him tomorrow as long as the fever stays down.”_ _

__Chris hadn’t taken his attention from the elder Stilinski, observing how his mobile face went through the gambit of emotions from fear, worry, amusement and pure relief._ _

__No sign of unchecked violence._ _

__Scott’s nose twitched, scenting the air, and his smile threatened to break his face wide open, it was so large and toothy._ _

__The young man moved across the floor with confidence, stopping in front of the sheriff before learning over and enveloping him in a hug. “Welcome back, Mr. S.”_ _

__Stilinski groaned at the enthusiastic hug and Scott eased away, embarrassed. “Oops, sorry about that. I forgot about your shoulder.”_ _

__“No, Scott, I’m the one who’s sorry,” the other man croaked out, overcome with emotion._ _

__“Everyone is going to be okay and that’s the most important thing. Although you know how grumpy Stiles is when he doesn’t feel well. You’re going to have your hands full,” Scott joked, uneasy in the face of the other man’s high emotions._ _

__It was never easy seeing a parental figure breaking down. Then again it was harder for the parental figure when something that had happened made them break down. Chris definitely felt for the other parent._ _

__Scott handled the uncomfortable moment with aplomb. Rising to his feet he said, “The first thing out of Stiles’s mouth when he woke up was asking if you were okay. I think he’d rest easier if he could see you. Do you feel up to going to the hospital?”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah I do. Of course,” the older man responded._ _

__“You might want to shower off first if you feel up to it,” Scott’s nose crinkled with distaste._ _

__Chris had to bit down on his lip to keep from chuckling. He’d never known a teenaged boy who cared about how things smelled but then again, Chris had never been around teenaged werewolves. At least not in a carefree manner._ _

__“I can do that. Can we swing by the house?” Stilinski asked._ _

__“I’ll give you a ride to your house and then to the hospital,” Chris offered. “Maybe on our way back home we’ll get a bit to eat.”_ _

__The other man rose to his feet, wobbled for a moment and then steadied. “Sounds good. Thank you.”_ _

__The all trooped upstairs but Scott hung back._ _

__“Hey, Chris. I thought you’d want to know, Stiles said he was able to handle the weapon with his left hand because of Allison. She told him never to rely on his dominant hand.” Scott patted his back before he moved up the stairs._ _

__Chris was overcome with emotion. He’d taught Allison that lesson and she’d passed it on. It hurt but it also felt good to see the impact his baby girl had made on her friends before she left his world._ _

__Shaking off his feelings, Chris followed the others upstairs. He could compartmentalize with the best of him and right now he had a job to do._ _

__Deaton remained behind as Scott headed to his motorbike and Chris and the sheriff moved to his vehicle._ _

__Maybe they were going to have a happy ending after all._ _

__-0-_ _

__Chris hung back in the doorway as the sheriff entered his son’s room. He didn’t have any major concerns about Stilinski and the brainwashing but he was going to stick close for the next forty-eight hours just to be sure._ _

__Stilinski sank down in the same chair he’d inhabited last time, drawing Stiles’s hand between his own, chafing it lightly._ _

__“Dad?” Stiles’s croaky voice whispered._ _

__“Yeah, son, it’s me,” the man answered, tears apparent in his clogged retort. “I’m so, so, so—”_ _

__“Bullshit, Dad,” Stiles interrupted, his voice gaining strength. “It’s not your fault. When I get my hands on those slimy hunters, I’m going to—”_ _

__“First you’re going to need both hands so let’s concentrate on getting you healthy first,” Stilinski broke in this time._ _

__Chris wondered if the two Stilinskis always communicated this way, rapid fire and stepping all over each other’s words._ _

__With a groan, Stiles used the switch to raise the head of the bed._ _

__Stilinski didn’t like seeing his son in pain. “Stiles, I wish you would—”_ _

__“I know. But I’ll get better, you’ll see. For now I want a Stilinski hug,” Stiles demanded, eyes twinkling._ _

__It was so good to see the young man awake, and feisty._ _

__Chris actually felt sorry for Stilinski having to ride herd on a convalescing Stiles. The young man was a hand full at the best of times but injured, and using those big, brown eyes to advantage…yeah, the other man didn’t stand a chance._ _

__Wait, Chris was going to be around them for the next two days. He didn’t stand a chance either._ _

__Chris admired Scott and would support him in any way possible but ever since the plucky young Stilinski had mouthed off to Chris, he’d been pulling for the young man. The lone human running with wolves and other assorted supernatural creatures. Maybe Chris saw himself in the young man._ _

__The older Stilinski, mindful of Stiles’s injuries, tugged him into his arms. A sharp intake of breath was followed by a moan…both men were hurt and the simple hug was stressing both of their bodies._ _

__Their bodies would heal but the hug was needed for their psyches._ _

__Chris moved back toward the nurses’ station, happy to see the smiling face of Melissa McCall. He enjoyed the woman’s wit and strength and thought it was safe to pass a few minutes harmlessly flirting with her while the Stilinskis bonded._ _

__Disaster had been averted in this case. Chris had to remain vigilant for the next threat._ _

__Even though the next forty-eight hours were going to test his patience, Chris could take a moment to relish his part in keeping this family safe and together._ _

__He’d failed his own but this little circle of Scott’s was like his new family and they needed him. He vowed he wouldn’t let them down._ _

__

__Finis_ _

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fill for brain washing/deprogramming. I find the Alpha Memory Manipulation to be a very handy device as I'm sure you've noticed.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
